Falling to Pieces
by felix-felicis33
Summary: September 11th, 2001 - New York City. Blaine Anderson blows a kiss to his fiancé as the latter leaves for work. Kurt catches the kiss with a laugh as he heads out the door for an important meeting. It was a morning just like any other until it suddenly turned into something out of a horrifying nightmare. No character death. One-shot.


**A/N: **This story is about 9/11, if you think that it will be upsetting to you then please don't read.

There is no character death.

This is not meant to be an accurate representation of what happened on 9/11; it is mostly my imagination with a bit of what I know from reports and documentaries.

* * *

Pre-recorded laughter rang through the living area and into the apartment's kitchen where Blaine smiled at the punch line he'd heard at least a half-dozen times before. He twisted the hot water off and swirled his hands around under the surface of the soapy water filling the kitchen sink until the water was foamy. He listened to the old episode of _Friends_ that was playing on the TV as he methodically washed the breakfast dishes and set them aside on the draining board. He'd seen the episode so many times that he didn't need to watch it to know what was happening; he knew just by listening.

He had a day off from work today and was planning to spend it cleaning the apartment, going grocery shopping, and having a look through the new script he had received yesterday. It maybe wasn't the most relaxing way to spend a day off, but he didn't mind. He always made a point to do his fair share of chores, but as his fiancé was so busy at work right now, Blaine was doing a bit more of the work to take some of the load off Kurt.

Kurt had left for work almost an hour ago, heading off to some big meeting which wasn't being held at his workplace. Kurt and some of his colleagues had been preparing for this meeting for over a week and Blaine had been happy to learn that after today Kurt's workload would decrease fairly significantly. He often worried about how much stress his fiancé was under, despite Kurt's continual reassurances that he was coping just fine. He still appreciated Blaine's concern, though.

The TV show went to an advert break as Blaine finished scrubbing at a handful of cutlery and placed it on the draining board. After two advertisements, a breaking news segment suddenly started airing which Blaine listened to with vague interest as he picked up the last dirty plate and began to scrub it clean.

"-a plane has crashed into one of the Twin Towers in what is believed to be-"

The plate Blaine had been about to place on the draining board slid out of his numb hand and landed in the sink with a dull thud, sending up a small splash of soapy water. "No…" he muttered, his body frozen except for his heart which had begun to pound almost painfully in sudden terror. Surely he had heard wrong.

He forced himself to turn around and jog through to the living area until he was standing in front of the TV. A newsreader with a very grim look on his face occupied the left hand side of the screen where he continued to speak, describing what was believed to have been a terrorist attack. Large, bold letters spelled out the headline 'Plane crashes into Twin Towers' along the bottom of the screen. But taking up most of the screen was video footage streaming live from New York City of the chaos and panic from the plane crashing into the building which was now issuing copious amounts of smoke. He hadn't heard wrong.

"No…" he muttered wildly. A memory flashed through his head of earlier that morning: Kurt bending down to kiss his cheek as he reminded him that he had his meeting at the North Tower this morning; Kurt's smile as he tells him he loves him; Blaine grinning lazily up at him, not fully awake yet, calling out a reply and blowing Kurt a kiss as his fiancé lets himself out of the apartment.

"No…"

Live footage was still being shown on the TV, most of it shaky, amateur filming as the newsreader continued to describe the situation and read out new reports as they came in. Then they got some new footage: a slightly blurry video capturing the moment the plane flew into the tower. Blaine stared at the TV in horror; fear like nothing he could have ever thought was possible flooding through him in ever strengthening waves which threatened to render him speechless and incapacitated. He couldn't believe this was happening; this couldn't be real. But the terror and pain were too powerful for it to be anything other than real.

"Kurt…" he whined as he continued to stare at the TV as if he were frozen in that position.

The sound of sirens wailing through his TV speakers as the footage being aired cut back to live shots of the area surrounding the towers snapped Blaine out of his state of shock and he spun on his heel and sprinted out the apartment, letting the door slam shut behind him without caring about the neighbours. Unable to stand waiting for the elevator and pacing that small, square enclosed space until it reached the ground floor, he threw himself down the corridor until his body slammed into the door leading out into the stairwell, and then he flung himself down the stairs, taking several at a time and grabbing at the handrail to stop himself falling. He had only one thought on his mind as he jumped the last five steps, staggering a little on landing, and sprinted out into the lobby and across to the front doors: get to Kurt.

He bounced on the balls of his feet and muttered impatiently under his breath as he scanned the passing traffic for a cab. When one finally stopped for him he sprinted over to it, yanked open the door, and flung himself inside with an exclamation of relief. When he told the cab driver his destination, the man turned to look at him with a look of grim surprise.

"Haven't you heard the news? A plane crashed into one of the towers; you can't go there," he told Blaine with an apologetic shake of his head.

Blaine struggled to hold back his tears. "Please," he begged in a thick voice. "I need to get there – _please_!" Panic was building inside him and he fought to keep it bottled up so he didn't start screaming and sobbing. "My fiancé is there – _please_!"

Looking a little scared at either the prospect of driving close to the Towers or the desperation in Blaine's voice, the cab driver nodded and pulled away from the curb into the heavy city traffic.

Throughout the drive Blaine tried to calm himself down a little and settle the wracking sobs and distraught screams of agony threatening to tear their way out of him. He had little success with it and managed to slip into a heavy numbness which wiped his expression into a pale, blank stare, though he knew his eyes would still be wide and revealing the inner turmoil of his emotions that the blank mask on his face was concealing. This mask began to slip the closer they got to the towers and smoke stained the sky, dust and debris filled the air, sirens wailed, and chaos filled the streets. The cab driver drove as close as he could before stopping and letting Blaine out.

"I hope your fiancé's ok," the driver said sincerely.

Blaine just nodded vacantly and fumbled for some money.

The driver waved it away. "Don't worry about it," he said.

Too out of it to even thank him out loud, Blaine just nodded again before turning away from the cab and sprinting through the panicking New Yorkers crowding the dust-choked streets towards the centre of the fear. His chest was in pain: each breath he took was quick, shallow, and aching. His whole world was threatening to collapse, only held together by a fragile glass wall which, if it shattered, would leave him an inconsolable, irreparable shell of the person he had once been.

The closer he got to the towers the harder it got to see as the air became more dust-clogged. People suddenly appeared in front of him as they hurried away from the towers and he almost collided with someone every few strides. Groups of emergency service crew members overtook him and he increased his pace, following them through the yelling crowds spilling off the sidewalks onto the roads.

He was almost at the towers when screams and panicked shouts suddenly filled the air and he noticed the amount of smoke, dust, and debris in the air, too much to be from just the one tower. Skidding to a halt in the middle of the street, he watched in horror as a fireball burned in the side of the South Tower, the one that hadn't already been belching smoke into the sky and littering the surrounding streets with debris. Only one word registered in the jumbled mess of terror, disbelief, and panic that was his mind: Kurt.

* * *

One of the women from the other fashion label was standing at the front of the room pointing at swatches of various fabrics, sketches, and charts and graphs and Kurt was getting quite sick of the sound of her voice; she had been talking relentlessly for almost thirty minutes and kept repeating points she'd already made. When she began to once again list the many advantages of some particular design, Kurt let his mind wander. Yes, this meeting was important and he had spent hours preparing for it, but he couldn't listen to this woman any longer; someone really needed to tell her to wrap it up and sit back down.

Unfortunately there was little else to occupy his mind in the large, square meeting room on the seventieth floor of the North Tower. The room was bland: plain off-white walls, large round table with chairs around it, commercial carpet on the floors, strip lighting on the ceiling, and no window as they were towards the middle of the floor; nothing to hold his attention here.

He shuffled through the papers lying on the table in front of him just for something to do, but he had already said his piece and there was no longer any point in rehearsing it in his head for something to occupy him. Catching the eye of one of his colleagues, he indicated the woman still droning on with a small jerk of his head and rolled his eyes. His colleague nodded and gave him a look as if to say 'I know'.

Drumming his fingers lightly on the stack of papers, he found himself noticing the little things: a short scratch on the table, one of his colleagues' squint tie, a stain on the carpet near the door, the dull roar of an airplane, a chip in the paintwork on the wall directly opposite him…

With an almost inaudible sigh Kurt tuned back into the woman's spiel to see if she was showing any signs of finishing up. He had only been listening to her for a few seconds when his attention was caught by the much louder roaring of the plane he'd heard earlier. He frowned; he didn't think planes flew this close to the towers.

Others around the table appeared to have noticed the plane as well, as people were frowning in the direction of the ever-loudening sound of the engines. A moment later it was so loud that even the woman at the front of the room had stopped talking, but there was no time for any relief at that as the plain, boring meeting was turned with breakneck swiftness into something out of a nightmare.

There was an ear-splitting roaring crash – a sound Kurt didn't think he'd ever be able to find the words to describe, no matter how long he thought about it – which was accompanied and followed by shattering, screeching, booming, screaming, and exploding as the whole room shook and shuddered violently. Kurt was thrown from his seat onto the floor along with everyone else in the room and above his shock and panic he was internally screaming his wonder at what was happening. He managed to roll out of the way to avoid a large chunk of the ceiling as it fell near him. After the floor stopped lurching and rolling beneath him like he was on a ship in rough seas, he pulled himself onto his hands and knees, coughing from the dust-filled air.

His ears were ringing from the blast that sounded as if a whole crate of bombs had gone off, but he could still hear the continued crashes and booms from above him; whatever had happened it had occurred several floors above.

Someone asked if everyone was alright and he responded, staggering to his feet. Kurt felt a burst of relief when everyone else answered and began to climb cautiously to their feet. Nobody appeared to be seriously injured, there were a few cuts from parts of the ceiling falling, but they seemed to be shallow and small. They were all sprinkled with a layer of white dust, some worse than others, but they all had one thing in common: a look of terror on their faces.

"Do you think it's safe to leave the room?" someone asked.

Kurt, who was closest to the door, glanced over his shoulder at it, shrugged, and said, "We can't stay in here forever." He eyed the ragged holes in the ceiling where chunks of it had fallen and the deep, spreading cracks wriggling over the rest of it. "Plus, it looks like the ceiling might fall in," he added.

The woman who not even five minutes ago had been ploughing through a long, monotonous speech looked especially frightened. "But we don't know what happened; there could be anything going on outside this room!"

Kurt remembered the unusually loud sounds of an airplane and felt a strong inkling that it was connected to what looked like a good portion of the building falling in after a series of explosions.

"I don't think it's safe to stay here," his colleague with the squint tie said, managing to sound fairly calm. "I'm with Kurt; we need to get out of here and try and leave the building."

Nearly everyone nodded and started picking their way gingerly over to the door. After a moment of hesitation, the woman followed, the thought of being left here alone obviously worse than the prospect of leaving the room.

The guy with the crooked tie – Nathan – joined Kurt at the front of the group. They exchanged a glance before Kurt braced himself and opened the door.

Beyond it was absolute chaos: people were screaming and yelling in panic-filled voices as they sprinted past the doorway while others huddled in groups or at their desks looked scared and utterly bewildered about what to do, dust filled the air, papers and debris littered the floor, and there was an ominous roaring sound from somewhere nearby. For a moment they all stood frozen in the doorway, wide eyes taking in the scene before them until some dust shifted and Kurt caught a glimpse of tangled wiring, some of it damaged, hanging through the broken ceiling and the horrible truth dawned on him: this wasn't something minor; they were all in great danger and they may not make it out.

As this realisation spread through him he forgot about his immediate situation of planning how to get himself and as many others as possible out safely as the image of the face of the man he loved filled his mind, so clear and detailed and real that he could see every fleck of green in his hazel eyes, the light freckles on his nose… He felt like he could just reach out and touch him and be flooded with warmth, love, and that feeling of 'I'm home', before being swiftly whisked out of whatever horrifying nightmare he was currently trapped in.

Blaine.

A sleepy smile, honey-coloured eyes still slightly bleary, but gentle and full of adoration as they met his; the familiar voice that had been used to woo him in the past telling him to have a nice day at work and promising to cook his favourite meal for dinner to celebrate him being able to relax more as his workload decreased; the comforting scent he could never get enough of filling his nostrils as he brushed a kiss across the soft skin of the cheek that was as familiar to him as his own body; a 'love you!' called across a stylish, cosy apartment; the flash of a wide smile, and a blown kiss that he caught in his hand with a fond laugh.

Blaine.

He might never see him again… The air caught in his throat and he choked out a strange sound that was somewhere between a whine and a sob. No more honey eyes, long eyelashes, dark curls, or strong arms. No more eye-crinkling smiles, linked fingers, or a warm body tangled with his. Never again would there be whispered words in his ear, lazy Sunday mornings in bed, kisses when he least expected them, passionate nights, or arms encircling his waist from behind as a chin was rested on his shoulder. Never again would he wake to incoherent mumblings as he snuggled closer, or the smell of breakfast wafting through the apartment, or the sound of him singing in the shower. Blaine would be on his own: just Blaine with nothing but Kurt's fading scent, photographs of happier times, a closet full of clothes, and a ring that was a reminder of everything they'd had and how much more they could have had.

A loud crash that was severe enough to shake everything in the room and tilt the floor beneath his feet snapped Kurt back into the here and now. The sounds assaulting his ears and the sight of terror and horror all around him was enough to make determination fill him; he _would_ get back to Blaine. That breakfast and blown kiss wouldn't be their last moment together. He wasn't leaving Blaine.

He stepped away from the doorway, through the invisible barrier that had seemed to separate him from the chaos beyond, and was glad to see Nathan matching his steps and to hear the shuffling of multiple pairs of feet behind him.

"We need to get to the stairs," Nathan said, squinting through the melee for the door with the emergency exit sign above it.

Kurt looked around the frantic people within sight of them to see if any of them could maybe lead them to the stairs, but everyone he could see was either talking hysterically into phones or huddling in tight, scared groups. Nathan started heading off across the office space. "This way," he called over his shoulder.

Hurrying after him, Kurt glanced over his shoulder to make sure the rest of the people from his meeting were following. As they picked their way across the floor – no easy feat with debris and fallen furniture littering the floor and more still falling, sometimes only narrowly missing them – Nathan, Kurt and a few other members of their group tried to encourage others to join their attempt to leave the building. Some joined them, looking grateful that someone was giving them a way out, but some refused, too scared to leave the area they knew to venture into whatever unknown horrors could be off this floor or simply choosing to wait for the emergency services to help them. They desperately tried to persuade some of those who refused to move as the floor, and subsequently the rest of the building, began to deteriorate, but had to give up and move on when it became clear they were wasting time and putting themselves in danger.

Thoughts of Blaine kept trying to take over Kurt's conscious mind, but he forcibly shoved them down; he needed to focus on getting to the stairs. He felt no relief when they finally reached them and Nathan pushed open the door leading out into the stairwell: he had a gut feeling that worse was to come.

He was right: the second he stepped through the door the smell of smoke hit him. It swirled around the stairwell and made his eyes water and his heart sink; he had dreaded fire at the sight of the loose wiring, but he had hoped too much fire hadn't broken out yet.

Nathan's worried gaze met his. Kurt mistakenly inhaled deeply to try and steady himself, coughed, and set off determinedly down the stairs. "Let's get going before things get worse," he said, sounding far braver than he felt.

They jogged down what felt like endless flights of stairs, silent except for the rhythmic thudding of their feet and a cough every now and then. There were several times when they heard loud crashes and the thundering of what Kurt guessed were parts of the tower falling in; these sounds made him quicken his pace. They had only descended two floors when the first wave of people joined them and it happened again on multiple occasions until the stairs became crowded with people hurrying down to the ground floor. Nobody was talking much, but Kurt caught snatches of what the people who weren't terrorised into silence were saying and heard multiple theories on what had happened – only a few of them involving the plane he was positive was the cause – along with how badly damaged the building was in places and how there were a lot of bad injuries from falling rubble. He also learned that emergency services were currently in the process of rescue efforts.

The smoke thickened at one point so everyone was forced to crouch down to avoid the worst of it, greatly slowing their pace, but there was never any sign of the actual fire to Kurt's relief. Disorientation was the biggest problem from the smoke and they kept losing track of which floor they were on and with the panic and fear thrumming inside him, Kurt couldn't tell how many flights of stairs they had gone down.

The building was rocked by another smaller explosion somewhere causing several people to shriek and grab for the handrails. What happened next occurred so quickly there was no way Kurt or the people around him could have avoided it: one second he was thinking it was ok and they could keep moving, the next the wall beside him was crumbling onto the stairs. Panicked screams echoed up and down the stairs and a large number of people shoved at each other in an attempt to get away from the falling wall. Kurt was thrown against the railing and the breath was knocked out of his lungs, sharp pain stung at his face and forehead and there was a dull, burning pain in his left leg where a chunk of wall had landed on him.

With a grunt of effort he shoved the debris off him and scrambled shakily to his feet. Other people around him – including Nathan – were also either climbing unsteadily to their feet or being helped up by others if they were more injured. Nobody appeared to be more seriously injured than a few broken bones and some cuts. Feeling something trickling unpleasantly down his face, Kurt lifted a trembling hand to his cheek; when it was removed it was stained red.

Pushing his bleeding injuries into the part of his mind where he was keeping everything to do with Blaine, Kurt carried on down the stairs, limping slightly and with his jaw clenched to help him deal with the pain in his face and leg.

Visibility was reduced by an even greater extent by the addition of dust to the smoke, making it difficult for Kurt to see anything but the people directly in front of him. Everyone was even more panicky now that the stairs were crumbling down on them, including Kurt, and with the increased panic came more confusion. Kurt began to count the flights of stairs they descended to try and keep control of himself: one, two, three, four…

Parts of the ceiling rained down on them, a shouted warning meaning no one was hit, and Kurt found himself silently begging for them to reach the ground floor. It was getting more and more dangerous the longer they all stayed inside the building and a horribly morbid thought swam into his mind as he continued to descend staircase after staircase: each second that ticked past decreased his chances of getting out alive, of seeing-

He cut off his own trail of thought and went back to counting stairs.

"I think this is it!" Nathan shouted as a landing began to emerge through the dust and thinning smoke. There was a strange roaring sound and more debris fell and Kurt caught sight of an ominous flickering out the corner of his eye – fire.

Obviously noticing this as well, Nathan's eyes widened as he ducked aside to avoid a chunk of falling plasterboard and concrete. He flung himself at the door on the landing and yanked it open, being forced through it by the press of people behind him desperately clamouring to get away from the stairs which were starting to fall apart.

Kurt had no idea if the door he was hurrying through led to the ground floor and safety or if it led to another floor of the building and its unknown dangers, but in the dust, smoke, panic, fear, and confusion it wasn't possible for him to find out for certain. All he could do was hope as he limped through the doorway, swiping at the blood still trickling down his face.

* * *

Crowds of people were streaming out the doors of the tower while groups of rescue service workers filed inside in orderly lines, most of them wearing masks to protect themselves from smoke and all of them wearing helmets and thick, protective jackets. Paramedics were helping the injured out of the swarms of people the police were trying to organize and control towards a makeshift first aid station and ambulances. Panicked shouts and yells still drifted through the smoke, dust, and falling debris that hung in the air in a constant reminder of what was happening.

Blaine frantically scanned the crowds, his heart leaping every time he caught a glimpse of chestnut brown hair or a flash of blue eyes, but it was never Kurt. Though he had told himself not to, he found himself feeling more and more frantic as time passed by and there was still no sign of Kurt emerging safely from the tower. He knew there was a chance that Kurt could be out already and he was just missing him in the hundreds of people around him, but he couldn't stop his mind from jumping to the worst possible conclusions. His last words to Kurt were ringing in his ears; "Love you!" A blown kiss and a fond smile, sparkling blue eyes and a smile as a hand reached out to catch his kiss…

A sob choked out of his chest which felt as if it were being squeezed in a tight metal clamp and he suddenly found himself right at the front of the panicking crowd waiting for friends or relatives to exit the tower safely. Several people down from him a police officer was struggling to calm the swarms of people and prevent them from getting any closer to the tower.

There was a sudden burst of activity at the doors of the tower and a group of rescue workers came out, some supporting several injured people, others carrying what was horrifyingly clear as bodies.

That was enough to completely shatter the little of composure that Blaine had remaining and he began to verge on hysterical. He gasped for air, but could never seem to get enough in his lungs and he could feel a scream of despair building in his chest. He couldn't stand by and watch any more, he needed to do something, he needed to find Kurt.

Tripping over his own feet, he tried to run to the entrance of the burning building, but was stopped in his tracks by a tall rescue crew member after only going a few strides.

"You can't go any closer, sir," he said in an authoritative voice, his hands holding Blaine by the shoulders as he tried to squirm out of his grasp. "It's not safe."

Tears were cutting streaks through the layer of dust on Blaine's face. "My fiancé," he stammered, still struggling with the man. "Kurt!"

The man was saying something else to him, but Blaine wasn't listening. "Kurt!" he shouted again, desperately hoping to hear Kurt respond and come running up to him.

Another pair of hands joined the first pair on his shoulders and firmly pushed him back towards the rest of the waiting crowd. Another, deeper voice tried to reassure him that they were doing everything they could to get everyone out safely and that it would be better for both him and his fiancé if he moved back and waited and they'd let him know if his fiancé was found. But Blaine didn't want to move back as Kurt was in that building that was collapsing and on fire and a plane had flown into it and oh God…

Swallowing the scream that was threatening to explode out of him, Blaine reluctantly allowed himself to be guided back. This was worse than any nightmare his sleeping brain could conjure up; this was pure torture, he had never imagined it was possible to feel this much pain and terror. He felt like he was going to go mad if he didn't see Kurt soon.

Screams pierced the air around him and Blaine jumped, so on edge that even things he had been hearing since he'd arrived at the towers startled him. He turned to see what had caused the most recent bout of distress and terror and immediately wanted to close his eyes to try and block the image from his mind, but something held his eyes open and he was forced to watch as people who had obviously jumped from the upper floors of the towers fell through the sky, choosing to jump to their deaths from over ninety floors up to escape the burning building. Jumping to their death was preferable to what was happening inside those buildings…

"Whoa, steady there!" a voice said and Blaine felt arms supporting him, keeping him upright as he swayed on the spot and almost collapsed to the ground.

He was passed to someone else who tried to lead him away while saying something to him in a low, reassuring voice, something about wanting him to sit down. The dizziness faded enough for him to struggle weakly. "No!" he moaned. He ducked away from the stranger's hands. "Kurt!" he shouted.

The stranger tried to reassure him again, but he was inconsolable. He was a mess: he could barely stand or think or breathe or do anything but stare at the crowds of people piling out the doors and being guided away by members of the rescue crew.

An indefinite amount of time passed and the stranger who had been trying to console and help him moved away, but he barely noticed anything happening around him, all his attention was focused on the people coming out of the towers as he continued to frantically search for Kurt. Through his distress he caught snatches of news about what was going on inside the towers: the South Tower was extremely unstable, fire was spreading through multiple floors in the North Tower and blocking a number of stairwells, fire fighters were struggling to reach people trapped in the South Tower, smoke was becoming a major problem for those still inside.

Short gasps of air continued to saw painfully out of his constricted chest and his stomach felt like it was simultaneously writhing in dull pain and had been scooped clean out of his body. The scream that had been lodged in the back of his throat was now a pained whimper. His knees trembled and his legs were unsteady and shaky.

A brush of lips on his cheek, familiar scent filling his nostrils, an 'I love you' said adoringly, footsteps to the door, a sleepy smile, a blown kiss which a pale hand snagged out of the air, a giggle that made his heart light… He couldn't _breathe_…

He had never felt pain like this before, he didn't realise it was possible for him to feel this much, but as impossible as it seemed, the pain continued to increase the more time that passed without any sign of Kurt emerging from the tower. He felt like he was being simultaneously burned alive, stabbed by thousands of knives, and cut open by razor-sharp blades. He was bleeding from the inside, his very _being_ close to being ripped away from him for good. He unconsciously twisted his engagement ring around his finger; if Kurt didn't come back…

He cut off his own thought; he would come back, he _had _to, he wouldn't leave him.

He suddenly noticed that he was muttering under his breath as he stared fixedly at the doors of the tower. "Kurt…" he kept saying. "Kurt, _please_… Please just let me have Kurt. Please just let him come back."

He didn't know who he was pleading to, but he was willing to plead and make a bargain with anyone or anything to bring Kurt back safely to him.

He stood there for what could have been minutes or even hours with tears streaming down his face and breaths choking raggedly out of his lungs as he occasionally muttered Kurt's name or whimpered a broken '_please_'. He was fiercely holding onto the hope inside of him, determined not to let it fade or flicker out and die as another agonizing minute without Kurt ticked by. That hope was just starting to weaken and slip out of his tight grasp when:

"I'm fine, I just need to-"

Blaine lifted his head, hope flaring up again as his breathing stopped and his heart skipped a beat.

"I will!" the same voice said, sounding closer than it had done a few seconds ago. "I just need to phone my fiancé – he'll be terrified. It's not bleeding that much, just let me-"

Kurt.

Breaking into a run, Blaine shoved his way through the crowds around him, not caring who or what he bumped into as he searched for the voice he'd just heard – for Kurt. Kurt who was alive and safe and _here_ and Blaine just needed to find him. He clipped something much more solid than a person and his arm was jerked to one side, but he felt no pain.

Kurt.

People were calling after him and trying to stop him, but he didn't hear them, he just kept running towards that voice, the voice that is the most beautiful sound he has ever heard, the voice that whispers sweet nothings in his ear as he curls up on the couch with a warm body, the voice that murmurs to him in bed at night, the voice that never fails to brighten his day.

Kurt.

And then he saw the blue eyes that are the first thing he sees each morning, the eyes that see parts of him that no one else can, the eyes that never fail to lighten his heart and melt it all at once.

Kurt.

"Kurt!" he shouted, his voice rough with tears and numerous emotions – relief, love, terror, horror, pain, gratitude…

The blue eyes locked onto his face and Kurt fought his way out of the grasp of a paramedic and came running to meet him, limping slightly. "Blaine!"

Blaine met him halfway and threw his arms around him, absolutely sobbing as he clutched Kurt against him, holding him tighter and tighter. He buried his nose in Kurt's neck and inhaled deeply to smell Kurt's scent beneath that of smoke, dust, blood, and fear.

Kurt's tears were dampening Blaine's shirt as he held him in a tight embrace, murmuring a string of broken sentences into his ear. "Oh God, I thought I'd never- I was _so_ scared, Blaine- I was so worried I wouldn't- Blaine…"

Blaine just squeezed him tighter. The familiar feeling of their bodies pressed close together, of Kurt's scent and the sound of his voice, and of the feeling of him real and solid and alive against him was calming him down with each passing second. "Don't ever leave me, Kurt," he whispered. "I love you, don't leave me." His voice was still a little frantic, as if he were desperately relying on Kurt's response to live.

"I won't," Kurt promised. "I'll never give up on us without a fight; I'll fight to stay by your side."

They held onto each other for a little longer, clinging to one another as if they were the only thing keeping each other afloat in a raging sea. The feeling of Kurt's heart thumping in his chest, his uneven breathing stuttering against his face, and the warmth of his body seeping through to his was enough to keep the tears leaking from Blaine's eyes in a constant stream. It wasn't until the paramedic that had been with Kurt earlier began insisting that he treat Kurt that Blaine remembered that his fiancé was injured.

He stepped back out of Kurt's embrace and held him at arm's length to examine him closely. "You're hurt!" he gasped, his eyes travelling over the cuts on Kurt's face surrounded by both fresh blood and dried blood smeared with dust. He glanced down at Kurt's leg, remembering the limp. "Is anything broken? Do you need to go to the hospital? Did you inhale a lot of smoke?" His voice was panicked again. He may have Kurt back with him, alive and safe, but at what cost?

Blaine chewed apprehensively on his bottom lip as he watched the paramedic clean the cuts on Kurt's face and examine both them and his leg. People moved around him and distressed shouts and wails continued to sound behind him above the nightmarish noises of the towers burning and collapsing, but he barely noticed any of it, his entire focus was on Kurt, he didn't notice much else, the rest was just static in the background. He didn't breathe properly again or allow his tensed muscles to relax until he learned that the cuts on Kurt's arms, face, and legs were all fairly shallow and not serious, that his leg was just bruised, and that he hadn't inhaled much smoke. Due to large numbers of injured, only those who really needed the hospital were being admitted with everyone else being treated on the scene and then sent home to rest with strict instructions to go straight to hospital if anything about their condition worsened or changed. Once Kurt had been treated and his cuts and leg were all bandaged, he was given the all clear to go home and Blaine almost broke down in tears again because not too long ago he'd been terrified that Kurt would never make it home again.

They left straight after that, not wanting to remain at the site of the worse experience of their lives for any longer. It looked like the towers were close to completely collapsing and neither of them wanted to be around for that. It was difficult to get a cab, but eventually they did and were heading home. Kurt told Blaine that all of his colleagues made it out safely and none of them were injured any worse than him, but they didn't talk much beyond that. There would come a time when everything didn't feel so raw and fresh when they would talk about that morning and what they had experienced, but today was not that time for that. Instead they sat quietly with their fingers tightly entwined for the entire journey home, occasionally squeezing the other's hand or glancing over at them as if to reassure themselves that they _were_ both here, safe and together.

The TV was still on and playing continuous news coverage of the attack on the towers when they arrived back at their apartment; Blaine turned it off with a shudder. When the screen was blank and the apartment was silent again, it was as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened today, as if their whole world hadn't almost been ripped out from under them. Looking around, the only thing here that reminded them that today hadn't been a day just like any other was their filthy clothes, Blaine's dust and tear smeared face, and Kurt's injuries.

Kurt wrinkled his nose and plucked at the sleeve of his ruined shirt. "I'm going to go wash and change," he announced, sounding almost normal except for the slight hint of rawness to his voice.

Blaine started to follow him through to their bedroom, intending to wait there while Kurt showered first, but frowned and rushed forward to stop Kurt when he noticed him wince in pain as he limped towards the bedroom. "Come on," he said gently, wrapping an arm around Kurt's lower back. "I'll help you." He crouched down slightly.

Kurt saw what he was about to do and began to protest. "Blaine-" He huffed out a small puff of air when Blaine scooped him up into his arms and began carrying him bridal style through to the bedroom. "I could have managed to walk," he argued, but clung to his fiancé and nuzzled his cheek against his chest all the same.

Blaine took Kurt straight through to their en suite bathroom where he helped him take off his filthy clothes and then wash, working slowly and gently to avoid hurting him. When Kurt was clean and dressed in flannel pyjama pants and an old t-shirt of Blaine's that he insisted on wearing, Blaine moved to wrap an arm around his waist to help him through to the couch, but Kurt stopped him.

"Kurt, I don't want you limping through there in pain when I can-"

Kurt cut Blaine off by placing his hand over his mouth. "You can help me when I'm going through to the living room," Kurt promised. "But I just want to-" He broke off and shuffled slowly over to the sink. Blaine watched on in confusion as he ran water over a small face cloth and grabbed a towel before joining Blaine again.

As he raised the warm, damp cloth and began to softly clean Blaine's face of the smeared dust, Blaine swallowed his protests that he was about to have a shower and Kurt didn't need to do this, realising that this small act of caring for Blaine was important to his fiancé for some reason. So he allowed his eyes to flutter shut and enjoyed the warmth swirling through him from the feeling of Kurt tenderly cleaning the dirt and tears from his face.

When the cloth stopped wiping his face in gentle strokes, Blaine opened his eyes again to find Kurt gazing down at him with pain in his blue eyes. He lifted the hand that wasn't still holding the cloth and lightly caressed the red-raw skin beneath Blaine's right eye with his thumb.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

Blaine reached up and placed his hand over Kurt's, holding it against his face. "Don't be," he whispered, leaning into Kurt's hand. "You have nothing to apologise for, none of this was your fault."

"It must have been horrible for you: learning the news and not knowing what was happening in the tower or if I was alright." Kurt bent down and softly kissed the tender skin beneath Blaine's eyes. Blaine closed his eyes again, exhaling gently when Kurt rested his forehead against his own. "I hate seeing you upset and in pain," Kurt whispered.

"You're safe here with me, so everything is ok now," Blaine responded quietly.

They were silent for a moment, both filled with overwhelming relief and gratitude that they were together, breathing in the scent of each other again and revelling in the feeling of skin on skin. He could never thank the fates, the stars, or whatever other impossibly great forces that influenced their lives enough that the blown kiss and love yous from earlier was not their last moment together.

Filled with the sudden need to check that this was all real and that the nightmare really was over, Blaine tilted his head and slanted his mouth over Kurt's in a kiss that quickly turned desperate and needy as they clutched at each other, pressing their lips together in fierce, frantic kisses, and gasping into each other's mouths.

"Blaine…" Kurt breathed against Blaine's mouth as he wound the fingers of one hand into his curls and gripped the back of his shirt in the other, the cloth still fisted in it creating a small damp patch in the material.

Moving his mouth away from Kurt's, Blaine pressed tender, loving kisses on each of Kurt's cuts and forming bruises on his face and neck, before kissing him on the mouth again, this time soft, loving, and lingering.

"Don't ever scare me like that again," Blaine breathed as his nose brushed against Kurt's.

* * *

They spent the rest of the day curled up on the couch together with a musical playing on the TV that neither of them really watched. After some quick phone calls to friends and family to assure them that they were ok, they turned off their phones and put on the DVD, blocking all contact to everything outside of their apartment. They would need to learn what all had happened at the Towers and why, but that was something for tomorrow. Today they just needed to be with each other.

Blaine, now showered and dressed in clean clothes, kept smoothing a hand over Kurt's forehead or pressing a kiss to his temple as if to reassure himself that this wasn't a hopeful dream and Kurt really was still here. Kurt had just curled himself as close to Blaine as possible, wrapping an arm around his waist and tangling their legs together, though every now and then he would nuzzle his nose into Blaine's neck and breathe in his comforting scent or close his eyes for a moment and rub his cheek against Blaine's chest, listening to his breathing and steady heartbeat.

Blaine eventually broke the silence. "Are you ok?" he asked softly, turning his head to meet Kurt's eyes and running a hand slowly up and down Kurt's arm.

Nodding, Kurt gave a small smile. "I'm fine." He pressed himself even close to Blaine, rubbing his fiancé's ankle with his toes as he tangled their legs more. "I'm fine," he repeated. "Just hold me, please."

"I'll always be here to hold you when you want me to," Blaine murmured, pressing a kiss to Kurt's head. He brushed another kiss beside his ear. "To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse'," he quoted in the same soft murmur.

When night began to settle over the city and Kurt's stomach started to rumble, Blaine got up to make them dinner, pecking Kurt's lips and telling him to stay on the couch and rest. Blaine was only gone for a minute and just starting to rummage around in the cupboards and fridge for ingredients when Kurt stood up and limped through to the kitchen where he sat on a stool at the breakfast bar to watch Blaine cook. It may have been considered a bit pathetic that he couldn't bear to be away from Blaine's side for longer than a minute, but after all they had been through today it was anything but. Though Blaine had been the one to insist Kurt stay on the couch, he still smiled and wandered over to stroke his cheek when he heard Kurt enter the room and spent the time in between the tasks of preparing their meal standing behind Kurt, twirling his silky hair between his fingers or smoothing his hands across his shoulders and down his arms.

After dinner was finished they moved back to the couch for a few hours, and then moving to bed later when they both started to yawn and doze against each other. They curled up in a tight embrace under the covers, sharing the same pillow and kissing tenderly in between murmuring softly to each other until they both fell asleep.

Kurt didn't need to go to hospital, thankfully. His injuries were minor and his condition never worsened – he was lucky. He would need to go for a check-up at the doctor's in a few days' time, but he didn't need to leave Blaine's warm, safe embrace that day or worry his fiancé again with a trip to the hospital.

It would be days before either of them left the apartment or could bear to let go of each other for longer than a few minutes, weeks before they could stand letting the other out of their sight for any length of time without panicking, and it would take months for them and the rest of the world to recover from the nightmare of that day. By each other's side the more painful days of that recovery would be easier and it would be possible to fall asleep again after they woke gasping from nightmares. With the support and warm embrace of the one they love they would be less scarred by that fateful day. But on the eleventh day of every September for the rest of their lives they would always hold each other tight as memories of that day and thoughts of what could have happened ran through their heads. Kurt would bury his face in Blaine's neck and Blaine would kiss his head as they silently held each other and thanked everyone and everything that they both still had each other.

* * *

**A/N: **This was just one of those things that got stuck in my head and had to be written. The idea came to me when I watched a bit of a 9/11 documentary on the week before the anniversary of that day, but I didn't want to post it on the actual date just in case it was upsetting to people.

RIP to everyone who lost their lives in the 9/11 attacks - I still can't really believe this happened.

Thank you for reading! :)


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